


In Memoriam

by forcepair



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Book/Movie: Prince Caspian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Kings & Queens, Post-The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, Regent - Freeform, Romance, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14263548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcepair/pseuds/forcepair
Summary: "I solemnly swear my weapon to Cair Paravel— a pledge to the Great Lion's mane and to the four rulers of this glorious Kingdom of Narnia, to give my life and blood for this promised land and for its kings and queens. Let Aslan bear witness as I give my oath of loyalty to the High King and to Narnia."Too often, we question the potent of a prayer. Who would've thought her prayers from a distant memory could be answered, though a belated benediction? It all began with a desperation to preserve his memory to ignite hope glowing dimly in the promised land—in the form of a fabled sword with a lion-head pommel.





	1. And Thou Shalt Take A Nobler Leave

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fanfiction for The Chronicles of Narnia and my first work which majority of the scenes is in the POV of an OC. And I do hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> Set mainly during the events of the Prince Caspian film, though having a few elements from the play, game, and book, as well as the deleted scenes.
> 
> Some scenes and dialogues are inspired by Tumblr headcanons and edits. I really want to link everything, but I'm afraid that I forgot most of the posts, so just a heads up on that.
> 
> The titles of the chapters and the poems in the chapter summaries are directly lifted from Lord Alfred Tennyson's "In Memoriam A.H.H."
> 
> APRIL 16 2018 UPDATE: I've realized how crappy the first two chapters, so I've decided to re-write all of it.

Fear was brewing wildly inside her chest that caused her heart to almost stop beating. Though her armor and chainmail provided a façade of Narnia's magnanimous regent, the vulnerability was clear as daylight in her eyes. In a fleeting second, the forty-years-old Daughter of Eve was replaced by an adolescent warrior.

She had perpetual fears that strengthened her resolve. One of which was failing to preserve the lives of Narnians and another was the possibility of never see her family. So, she vented every ounce of remorse through the grip of her rapier which was covered in dried blood down to its hilt.

Inhaling sharply, the woman mustered the remaining gallantry she had in her voice. "The protection of Queen Susan's Horn is first and foremost the incentive," her eyes scanned the crowd as she spoke, "Victory is ours if we have it in our possession."

As she glanced briefly at the thrones that remained empty for centuries, she felt another wave of grief. Continuing, she raised her head higher. "Fight! Fight for our dearly beloved, for the Kings and Queens of Old, for what we always believed, for the prophecy, and above all for Narnia." Her words came from a passion that galvanized every vein of hers. She had come this far to lead the remaining. The speed of her words made it clear to everyone to what extent they needed to fight with everything they had in order to secure the safety of the Horn. "It is truly an honor to serve all of you."

Pride passed over the countenances of her soldiers which made her eternally grateful.

Standing beside her was General Oreius, who at this rate, was at his fifth centennial age, making him the oldest Narnian centaur who ever lived.

"How many remained?" she asked him.

"Eight regiments, Your Grace," his answer was quick; and her jaw clenched.

The Telmarines outnumbered them by two thousand men. What was worst was the machinery and reinforcements had no stand against the advanced technology of Telmar's trebuchets and ships.

"Milady, it's time," Oreius reminded her patiently. And he was indeed right. Unlike the woman beside him, Oreius was stony in both in his eyes and composure.

She gave him a deep nod, and the troops were quick to recognize the gesture by resting their free-hand above their chest, where their hearts were supposed to be. That was all she needed to see before starting the Oath of Honor. It was also a chorus of pledging their lives to protect her well-being at all costs reassured that they truly were with her until the end, as the remainder of Narnia was currently under her regency, and sometimes ruling beside an elected sovereign, since the disappearances of the Kings and Queens of Old.

She started speaking the first words, then everyone followed, " **I solemnly swear my weapon to Cair Paravel— a pledge to the Great Lion's mane and to the four rulers of this glorious Kingdom of Narnia, to give my life and blood for this promised land and for its kings and queens. Let Aslan bear witness as I give my oath of loyalty to the High King and to Narnia**."

She raised the rapier above towards the cracked glass roof, where the memory of a clear Northern sky should be. "For High King Peter's sake," the words that gave a tantalizing chill reverberated across the throne room, followed by the sounds of unsheathing of blades and the repetition of what she said.

The heavy marching sounds and yells of fury had them facing the entrance of the Great Halls. Upon the sight of shadows growing on the wall, altogether the Narnian troops prepared themselves for their last stand.

As she waited, the woman thought of her home, of Hampstead, of her parents and older sister, of Wales where she was evacuated, and of the on-going World War. Then, the thoughts faded upon the realization that wherever she goes, there would still be wars that would haunt her. Although, she chose Narnia because she could dedicate something in tribute to her brother's life who fought for a cause until his last breath.

Heart pounding slowly, she pushed back any inhibitions clouding her head when the Telmarines began to rush in. Time seemed to slow down when she hastened towards them. She poured out all her hear's contents, every crevice filled with pain and anger that reawakened the well-known stories of her wrath. All in one single shout. With Oreius tailing behind her, the woman lead Narnia's last army, screaming a battle cry that would forever resonate with the souls of the people that dedicated their lives for this night, "FOR NARNIA!"

By the clash of blades against blades, flesh, and metal, the war between Narnians and Telmarines recommenced. It was a downpour of the struggle between chaos to achieve triumph. Bodies that came from either of the opposing battalions collapsed or bled throughout the castle of Cair Paravel's most honorable Great Hall, the same polished ground that Aslan and the Kings and Queens of Old had trodden on.

Somewhere in the fight, the liege of Narnia was losing the upper hand to a Telmarine who surpassed her both in weight and height. She was thrown out of balance when the hilt met her jaw, then suddenly, his sword almost pierced her head. Luckily, she quickly managed to roll towards the opposite side, retrieved her parrying dagger to plunge it into his throat with a loud groan.

Oreius's voice rung out from the far end of the hall, "Lady Agnes!"

Kicking the Telmarine's body away as she pulled out the weapon, the woman named Agnes whipped her head towards Oreius who had his swords pierced through three Telmarines. He signaled for her to look up, and she saw a dwarf riding a gryphon beckoning follow them before making a turnaround towards the exit. Knowing already what they had in mind, she dashed out of the Great Hall, sending swift flurries of thrusts at Telmarines crossing her path using her rapier.

Soon, she passed corridors littered with piles of rubble, broken statues, and torn down paintings. All of what was left of the Golden Age's glory were no longer beautiful. Nevertheless, she was barreling her way down the grand staircase and finally outside the ruined courtyard. The sounds of battlement decreased from her earshot as she made distance towards the destination.

Trotwood, a faun relative of Tumnus, shoved a wall aside at the end of courtyard's dais. The regent immediately recognized the next destination by a look at King Frank I's statue, which now had its torso broken off.

"In here, Your Grace!" the dwarf called from above and entered the Treasure Room with Trotwood lighting the way using a torch.

With a growl, she crossed the dais in a few strides, careful not to trip over bodies of Telmarines and Narnians alike, and made her way down the sixteen steps of the Treasure Room.

Hidden within the eyes of many was the treasury of the Kings and Queens. There were few stones of various sizes and shapes that were made by the earlier catapult attacks, crushing some artifacts and gifts that were collected and earned from the Golden Age's trades and conquests.

But what had her concern, behind each of the four chests, were the statues of the four rulers that disappeared a centuries ago.

Agnes lost count on how many times she had found herself staring at these four statues. Sometimes, she dedicated prayers and offerings to each of them to seek guidance and strength. To Queen Lucy the Valiant, she sought guidance on how to be brave when everyone lost hope. War after war, she asked Queen Susan on how to console the grieving people. She would vent out to King Edmund the Just whenever challenged with diplomatic negotiations. While for High King Peter the Magnificent, she sought for his example to strengthen her resolve after lives had been taken away.

"Milady?" the faun called politely and effectively dragged her out of her reverie.

She took a long look at the High King's statue before letting out a sigh. In a speed driven by adrenaline, she went over the second chest from the right belonging to Queen Susan of the Horn. Lifting the ornate heavy lid, the Gentle queen's beloved possessions reflected a dim light from the fire. The regent's fingers slowly ran over an object's smooth ivory surface before taking it out.

This was the horn that was the symbol of their hope.

A surge of longing twisted her face in anguish. She remembered the times she blew this horn whenever she longs for the tetrarch's return. Those were the times after the loss of countless of lives, most had jumped in front of her to take the blades and arrows meant for her.

Pressing it gently to her forehead, mumbled an inaudible prayer, Agnes turned to the dwarf and handed Queen Susan's Horn. "Take this to the How. Protect it above all things," she ordered him with a firm gaze to show the gravity of the agenda. "This may be the last, so don't anymore come back."

"With all my life, my liege." Then, he tugged the gryphon and left. She watched them as they leave, the vulnerability returning to her eyes.

Trotwood perked suddenly to the shouting from the outside Exchanging nods, they both bolted towards the stairs, drawing out their respective swords, but he stopped mid-way the courtyard, and so did Agnes.

"What is it?" she eyed him wildly. Her voice was raspy and full of impatience.

"The High King's sword," the faun protested.

The weight on her chest plunged deeper. Every Narnian who knew of her name acknowledged very well that she would never let Rhindon be held by anyone, let alone a Telmarine. Before she could feel the hesitation, she ordered, "Close the wall when you leave." 

Agnes returned once more with the wall closing behind her. Soon, darkness enveloped the Treasure Room. Glancing back to the entrance, she realized she had forgotten to bring a torch. Nevertheless, the protection of the High King's sword was her utmost concern.

As she was about to step forward, there was a vigorous shaking of the surroundings that threw her against the metal gates with a loud crash of her body meeting the ground. A low moan escaped her lips at the throbbing pain on her hips, shoulders, and forehead that would develop ugly contusions later on.

"Ms. Beckett! What was that bloody noise out there?" said a familiar nasal voice which had her immediately recovering from her sprawled form. 

A chill ran through her spine. Something was wrong.

Both of her hands were devoid of her weapons, as well as gashes and bruises. The clothes, instead of a red and silver armor, she was wearing the same gray dress. Though a vague reflection on the window, she saw that her face was impossibly youthful, her age had been rewound for more than two decades.

A fog of confusion had been lifted.

Ms. Amelia, the matriarch of the house she was staying temporarily, looked very cross. "What in the heaven's name are you doing laying there like some dirty mop?"

Coldness coursed through her blood. Gripping her hair, she was breathing heavily, unsure of what to do.  Refusing to glance, Agnes gripped the hem of her skirt until her knuckles turned white. She fought all urges to shout again a cry of devastation. She had an army to lead, enemies to slay, and a castle to protect.

Aslan returned her to England in the midst of the siege, the most dreadful way possible.

* * *

**ONE YEAR LATER.** **..**

The London Underground tube station was full of soldiers from what she had seen through her the years of experiencing war back in Narnia. There were no tears spilled when they knew the possibilities of coming home was relatively slim. They muttered apologies in hopes to soothe the hearts of anguished beloved when a promise failed to do its power.

Although, Narnia was different to England. It barely endured the centuries of suffering brought by the Dark Ages and the Telmarine Conquest. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and that was when the young Agnes Beckett came into the picture.

By accident, she discovered Narnia after falling into the fountain pond of Ms. Amelia's villa back in Wales. She ended up in the shores of the sea that Queen Lucy had been crowned to a year after the appearance of the White Stag. Her every day back and forth journey after accepting the prophecy that explained the purpose of her presence. She would spend decades learning how to rule a country and lead a war, then after that Aslan returned her to England in the same age, time, and state before entering Narnia.

Then, the Dark Ages started after the king regent's line of successions failed. To her, it was only a matter of a day, but to Narnia, it was half a century. She had to take over the leadership until Cair Paravel finds a ruler since that was the prophecy told that she was supposed to rule without a crown on her head. But, every day, there would always be incidents and downfalls revolving the royalties. As for the regent, despite being the most eligible regent, she could not stay for a lifetime, thus the Narnian monarchy's stress.

"Aslan's plan," the people would say as she steps out down the throne. 

She would come back again and again, until the Siege of Cair Paravel. The sudden thrust back to this world concluded the end of her regency and reminded her that she has a life here.

Everything she did in order to carry on with her life seemed terribly wrong when there were Narnians dying in her absence.  

Here she was now, once again a schoolgirl, not anymore a lady warrior nor a regent of a castle, waiting for the next tube her older sister, Caroline, had boarded. Clueless about the time of arrival due to preoccupation with the preparations for her grammar school.

Clearing her throat, she tried to catch the attention of the person sitting beside in the most polite way without sounding more authoritative than she really was. That was because, after her times in Narnia, people would say that she was too bossy. What they did not know was that she had lived long enough to have thousands of men at her disposal, and now she commanded none. Not even her own life.

"Hi, excuse me, sir."

The boy, who must be going to Hendon House judging his blue uniform, reading the newspaper paid no attention. He seemed to be engrossed in the broadsheet covering his face.

Still, she attempted with a patient restraint that kept all her frustration internalized. "Excuse me, sir, you with the newspaper sitting beside me?" she tried again, this time his head perked.

Letting the broadsheet droop to reveal his face, the boy finally glanced with an insouciant stare.

Redness flared in her cheeks in shame because she had a feeling that he could have been bothered. Nevertheless, she had a valid reason. "If you were so kind, I would like to ask if you knew of the next train's time of arrival?" she spoke as if addressing a royalty. The carefully composed words exuded hopefully could lessen his annoyance. After all, practiced erudite words were the key to gain allies for trades and wars — a mark that her lessons from Narnia remained by heart.

He was taken aback, not sure if it was by her noble words, but for a short moment, his eyebrows rose and his mouth went ajar. He briefly glanced at her dark blue coat that bore her school's crest before giving an answer, "Six-twenty-one." After that, he shook the newspaper straight and went back in his own world.

"Thank you, sir." Out of habit, Agnes bowed her head deeply that displayed panache. She had approximately less than twenty minutes before Caroline's return and another thirteen minutes before she rides a tube heading to the Borough of Sutton.

Much to her surprise when her gaze flickered back to his, he also bowed his head in such regal manner that reminded her of something. The word was at the back of her head, but she did not dare to think of it. No, how could it be? She blew the Horn several times and waited for nothing. There was a possibility that the Kings and Queens were as good as gone as Aslan.

Or perhaps, he must be a son of some nobleman. He seemed was. He could be.

Agnes searched far for what was left of her knowledge about the Old Narnia.  _It was highly possible for Their Majesties to end up_ — then, the thought diminished once she caught a glimpse of his slouching posture.

"You know," hearing his voice made her gaze snapped back to his. "You may ask to borrow it to save yourself from staring."

Unknowingly, she found herself looking at the headlines for some time. " **FOREIGN SECRETARY EDEN SIGNS ANGLO-SOVIET TREATY** " were the words. 

The thought of staring for Aslan knows how long caused her to shrink in embarrassment. "I apologize, sir. It's that my mum deprives me of knowing what's going on with this war, but I can't help myself to take every opportunity to know." Agnes suddenly felt extremely conscious when he was also staring at her. "Sir," her head tilted slowly, "is there a matter?"

He frowned slightly, making her more uncomfortable because she could not comprehend what he was feeling right now. "I understand," he nodded, "Right after the Blitz, I was told to shut every radio at night because the idea of hearing the possible report of our father's death used to frighten my younger sister."

Agnes smiled sadly, reminding her of home back in Hampstead with the on-going war. The nights of her mother crying silently by the window as she listened to the night's news, still hoping for her deceased son to return from the war. Her father, who never knew how to handle emotions in spite of being a veteran of the Great War, stood frozen stiff on the threshold, unsure whether to hand his wife a cup of tea. And Caroline, the oldest sister, who thirsted for justice, went off to sign up for the war.

"My mum did it because she doesn't want to be reminded of Harrison, my brother, who died in the Second Battle of the Heligoland Bight," she found herself revealing to him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. He must be a good man," the boy said kindly.

"Don't be." It sounded more of a plead than anything else.

Missing Harrison caused her a lot of pain in both her household and in Narnia. The decades she spent in Narnia did not help for her to cope since she was surrounded by dead and wounded participants of every battle that occurred during her visit. But she wanted to do it in order to avoid the privileges of being young while her older siblings had dedicated their lives to secure a future.

He opened his mouth to say something else but decided against it. Then, he shook his head. "I was initially thinking of reading to you what battles are occurring at this very moment, but I'll spare you from that."

Her eyes lit up in recognition of his words. Though a simple gesture, it was very thoughtful of him. "You sound like my older sister," she said. "It's alright; all I needed was a look at the headlines." There was suddenly a fleeting feeling inside her. "But, thank you for your consideration, it was very. . . benevolent of you."

This was the first time she opened up to someone, not even to the Narnians. Agnes could not decipher whether to feel something negative or not about telling these things to someone she had talked to minutes ago. Although, the fact that he chose not to tell was something she regarded. Highly. It changed her mind of scolding herself for being too trusting, but she felt that it was right to trust this person.

Maybe it was because it was how his eyes looked like, and how it made her feel when she was looking at them. Eyes as blue as the glistening Eastern sea. They were the same shade as the sea of Cair Paravel she had come to love. The same sea where she first saw a vision of Aslan calling her.

His question broke the train of her thoughts. "What do you think of the treaty?" he prompted.

She thought about it for momentarily with a short hum and compared it to her experiences in diplomacy. "It's entirely off. I don't want our country to be too trusting with the Soviets at this rate. There are endless possibilities of regretting that decision in the end, but I trust that this could be the Allies' method of diminishing enemies since they are now, somehow one way or another, the lesser evil than Hitler's men. That's all."

The boy beamed at her answer. "I, too, have the similar answer, and judging by your face, something tells me that it came from experience."

Agnes raised an eyebrow. A heartbeat paused. She wanted to wipe off the knowing look in his expression. "You have an awful habit staring at me, sir."

"Oh." His face reddened, swiftly averting her inquisitive eyes.

The former regent felt her cheeks growing hot. "Not that I mind," was she managed before she concealed the scolding screams inside her head with a thick swallow.

"It's just that the way you speak. You reminded me of..." The boy paused momentarily, causing Agnes' eyebrows to raise in the anticipation. "The way you speak reminds me of my sister. Your words are highly articulated, quite different with the people that I speak with. You go to Nonsuch High School if I'm not mistaken by the looks of your uniform, and they, no doubt, teach such formidable students."

"Why, thank you. This is the first time someone noticed," she said appreciatively. Half the truth since it was Trotwood who first noticed it. Well, she was here on Earth, so it's at least more than the truth. "Other than my superiors," she said as an afterthought.

The thought of Trotwood conjured memories of her last battle. What had have happened to the Horn? Did the dwarf successfully brought it to Aslan's How? What has become of Cair Paravel? Were the treasures of the Kings and Queens of Old raided?

A myriad of questions swarmed inside her head, blurring reality with her anxiousness. Most of all, her concern was the Narnians that survived.

"Is there a matter?" His head craned towards her. The concern in his face, with the look of his frown and observant eyes, felt genuine to the extent that he looked similar to Harrison.

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "I just can't believe that I'm going to carry on with my life when this war is out there when I should be contributing something. I know I can, but not in this kind of world."

"Don't you find it at least advantageous that your life is not on the line?"

"No." She stifled a half-hearted laugh while blinking away the tears. "I do not. I  _loathe_  it. I'm here while my siblings had their lives out  _there_ on the line."  It made the remorse pressing furthermore. A sickening light-headedness. Another pang of pain in her heart.

"I-I apologize" he stammered. She saw the guilt in his countenance when his voice faltered. "It was insensitive of me to ask."

She inhaled deeply. "It's fine. People would rather have a boring life and find it as a privilege."

It was his turn to negate. "Actually, I find this boring life as a curse. There's a part of me that would rather go to war so my family wouldn't have to and it is a duty given to me as— nevermind  _that._  At the same time, I don't want the possibility of never going home to see them."

"So, you've been into one?"

"Yes." There was uncertainty in the way he replied.

"So did I." 

In one moment, everything around them became silent until they boy asked, "You believed me so quickly, why?"

Agnes hesitated. She simply knew he was not lying and was not sure why she did. Maybe it was the sincerity of the way he acts or the gut inside of her telling her to do so. When she looked at him, there was something telling her that his body just came from a war but soul wanted to stay and fight.

"There's no harm in believing," Agnes finally replied.

He smiled. "Very well, then, tell me about your experience."

She looked away. "I'm afraid that's a story for another time." Not entirely sure if she could not or would not. "Besides, you wouldn't believe if I told you so right now."

"There's no harm in believing," he quipped her earlier statement that had her grinning. "Unless it must have a foundation of trust."

An idea sparked in her mind. Her hands shook as she fishes for her handkerchief. Then, she took her pen to write down her address on the fabric which caused her writing to be sloppy, though readable. This was in hopes they would stay in touch through letters despite the distances from her home to his boarding school. She turned to him with a heated face, "So, let's build it up, yes?"  A silenced scream of was berating in her head when she could not believe her voice was lilting flirtatiously. Confidence like that came out of nowhere, or probably from the feeling of comfort when she conversed with him.

The boy accepted the handkerchief in a heartbeat, and her cheeks darkened as she looked away in order to avoid to see his expression.

* * *

 

It was not long when Caroline finally arrived, however, could not stay longer than uttering a hope for the best in their lives. 

"It has been a year since I saw you," Agnes complained. "Can't you just give me a moment?" She clutched the sleeve of her older sister, an implicit gesture of begging not to go yet. There was a refusal to look in the eyes as she bid their last farewell.  She knew that Caroline must say a goodbye in order for them to say hello sometime after this.

Certainly, after this war.

"I have to go now," Caroline said as another tube began to arrive.

"Please be safe," her small voice croaked. She wanted to tell her to not go off, yet it would be very hypocritical for her to say so. Afterall, Agnes also fought in wars without inhibitions from anyone in her family. Nevertheless, even if she wanted to stop Caroline, the last person she tried to stop from going to war was Harrison. Not Caroline, no, she would not dare to say it in fears of ending up with a dead body of her last sibling. "It's harsh. You recently arrived here from Bletchley, now you're off to the overseas."

Then, Agnes latched her arms around her. That was the only time she cried.

Sighing, Caroline's body heaved against her sister's. Her arm around Agnes's shoulders, pulled her closer as the latter sobbed harder.

"Come back to me, please?"  Agnes did not want any promises. Trying was more comforting to hear than promises. In her experiences, wars were only painful if goodbyes were accompanied by promises. She learned that in the hardest way possible. So, a simple goodbye and "I'll try to come back" would suffice.

The reply was delayed for a few heartbeats that indicated doubt. "I'll try, darling." Caroline let go and Agnes immediately felt the loss. Forcing a smile, Caroline ruffled her younger sibling's hair and disappeared among the crowds without looking back. 

Agnes fought the urge to chase her.

The boy stood beside her. "She'll come back."

Agnes did not need a look at the person beside her; she already knew that it was him. She turned, seeing that his arms twitched and then laid still as if he wants to touch her although decided against it. Instead, he tried to offer back her handkerchief, but she waved it off. 

His presence was enough. No need for any other thing.

"Thanks," she managed after composing herself free of moist cheeks and eyes using the back of her palm.

Soon, the station was crowded with students coming in and out of the tube.

She knew she had to part ways with him even with a heavy heart. "Bye-bye," she bid with a small wave.

Then a thought materialized in her head as he went in front of her. Before she knew it, her face hovered just below the boy's jaw. What if she placed a kiss on his cheek? Would he mind, though? When she evaluated it, her eyes widened and she pulled away slowly. Her lips let out a sigh instead, and he visibly tensed. If Agnes would do anything stupid in the next, she immediately reached out to give a friendly clap on his shoulder to avoid any possibility of making him uncomfortable furthermore.

Softly, he gazed at her. "I'll be sending you letters." 

"As so will I," she agreed. After another smile, she slowly entered the tube, feeling that his eyes were still on her, so she glanced back.

Then, her eyes grew large as saucers. The boy, whose name she still does not know, was suddenly in a ganged up by a bunch of schoolboys. 

She stepped on her toes when students of different schools began to crowd around him.

When she tried to go out, the tube's doors closed to which she restrained herself from punching it when they did. Her nerves were frazzled upon the idea she had nothing to do but to stand here and watch as the boy she started to like was beaten up. So, she prayed he would be strong enough to fight back and someone would pacify the chaos.

A flash of a dark-haired boy jumped into the brawl.

Agnes felt she was going to have an aneurysm. Now, she wished she had stayed long enough with him even when her body was not capable to defend nor attack since her skills were limited Narnia.

The tube departed, the station slowly disappeared. All she could see outside was the long wall of the dark tunnel.

She clutched her forehead in dismay throughout the ride. Another sigh left her lips, this time longer and more exasperated. 

When she almost lost her balance, Agnes immediately grabbed ahold of the hanging strap above her, only to clutch nothing but air. She looked up and then immediately squeezed her eyes shut from the blinding hot light. Her ears picked up the sound of waves crashing to and fro. As the light began to fade and a scenery began to appear, her vision adjusted to a sight she could never forget. 


	2. Of Memory Murmuring the Past

Soon, the London Underground, along with its passengers and tube, disappeared into a scenery her heart was familiar to. The cerulean waters of the Great River Delta connecting to the Eastern Ocean glistened in the morning light. Breathing in the salty scent of the breeze, the tension in her body slackened. Her body wanted to be here, and so did her dear heart. She turned around, behind her was a thicket of lofty trees with low branches that will create difficulty to pass through. That heavy burden that grieved for years had been lifted away from her chest.

Agnes took one tentative step, then another, until she broke off into a sprint. After each step, Agnes felt the strength returning to her body that she could not bring back to England. Soon, her limbs ceased to feel weak and useless, like they regarded the place she was in and reawakened the abilities she practiced here for more than decades of years.

So, Narnia remembered her after all.

A surge of determination rebuilt her resolve that had her heart pounding in anticipation. A childlike laughter escaped her lips and filled the warm air. She removed her loafers and relished the soft sand between her toes, the ebb and flow washed it off as they began to stick to her skin. Contented, she hummed with her eyelids fluttered closed as the continuous cascading waves rushing to her feet lulled her slowly to relaxation.

As she opened her eyes, the blue shade of the sea, light under the radiant sun, greeted her like an old friend she would visit in the morning before breakfast, for a moment she thought of Newspaper Boy. She wondered if he was doing alright in spite of being outnumbered in a fight. 

Wait, why would she be considerate of a boy's welfare that she only met in a day? What was her reason again? When the reasons turned into a long list in her head that could go on and on, she shook it away.

She turned around again, saw ancient wreckage that had that old heaviness crashing back to her like the waters turned into a tsunami and swallowed her whole. Realization slowly occurred to her as the memories of the siege flooded her. The gasp of horror turned into a mere hitch in her throat, too frozen in shock to even breathe. Cool sweat contrasted the warm skin of her face under the sun's heat. The happy moment was no more, only dread and other diabolical feelings associated with it.

This time without hesitation, Agnes ran once more. Through the abundant forest, she fought off the branches blocking her path in a speed fueled by adrenaline. She didn't even mind that the decent fabric of her sleeves doesn't exist anymore. Only slowing down when her hair had been bycaught through the thorns or when it was either her vest or shirt instead. Nonetheless, her mind was set on moving as fast as she could.

Despite what all the reason to run, she stopped at the remnants of the Northern Gate. It was hard to tell at first, but recognizable after close scrutiny of its markings. All at once, her emotions flushed. She wasn't sure what to do next, now that she stands before a fallen castle. The aftermath of the siege of Cair Paravel, the destruction she was supposedly part of. She forgot why she was in a rush to come here. Walking became slow. Briefly taking a long wistful stare at some particular spots before turning to somewhere else when memories started to muster a painful tug in her heart.

The night of the siege created an unsettling fog clouding her countenance. This was the aftermath of Cair Paravel's demise, now its throne claimed by nature and ruled none.

* * *

Deftly, Peter drew out his sword from its scabbard, turned on his heel, and held it up. At first, he feared it might have been covered in rust due to the years of being sheltered in its scabbard, but Rhindon was glinting in the sunlight that seeped through the large cracks in the ceiling, its weight perfect and righteous in his grasp. There was something new in him that he felt that he was High King Peter the Magnificent again. 

This was the sword that protected Susan and Lucy from Maugrim. This was the sword that he carried to avenge Edmund's sufferings against the White Witch. Rhindon was with him from the very start of his journey towards the end of it. The alpha and omega to the symbol of his identity as liege of Narnia.  His gaze traveled from the honed gleaming point down to the golden lion pommel of his sword, and back on the words inscribed across the sword's well-polished fuller.

Couldn't contain his pride, Peter read the prophecy aloud, "When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death."

"And when he shakes his mane, we will have spring again," Lucy continued for him.

Aslan. The Great Lion. Where was He when they asked for Him, when they needed Him? Peter thought that He had forsaken them, that it was a sin to go after the White Stag and sought for good luck for his people. Was it a sin against his mighty countenance? To wish for a perpetual prosperous life for the city of Cair? And now that He called them back, He brought them nothing but ruins of a place they called as home. All that they had built, they had fought for, gone. Gone just like that. Yes, they do belong here. Although, what was the purpose of a High King without a kingdom to govern and protect?

All of a sudden, as Peter was still looking at Lucy and immersed in his reflection, the gate loudly creaked open in which a flash of a figure entered with a rapier covered in grime. "It would be highly appreciated if you drop the sword," she enunciated grimly that every syllable dripped with her rage.

Peter glanced at her, then did a double take. She was shaking, perhaps the effect of the intense emotions in her eyes. By the looks of her steady gaze over his, she didn't even care if there were tendrils and nettles stuck through her hair, and her clothes were disarray so much that it had tears here and there. Above all, she didn't even care if she was dangerously outnumbered. The eye movements were enough to tell that this was an impulsive decision of hers.

Edmund, who knows how to deal with an armed swordsman better than his brother, charged with his metal helmet and flicked it away from Peter. To which she responded with a quick and deep slash of her rapier. With his sword drawn and the helmet was thrown aside, the Just King countered by thrusting his sword upwards when their blades had clashed.

His skills on swordsmanship returned to his sinews, invigorated. As if being in Narnia gave back the life force he lacked in England. Peter could see this in Edmund's grip strong on the hilt of his sword.

There was a loud voice in Peter's head that screamed to do something, anything to stop the possibility of drawing each other's blood between this girl and his brother, but he wanted to see how would she endure Edmund's infamous sword fighting skills. Perhaps, this was the punishment he will give her for acting on an impulse that could have cost her precious life.

From the other side of the ancient Treasure Room, Susan slid on the quiver and loaded her bow, and it produced a distinctive sound as it was stretched.

As the intruder spun away and prepared to parry, Peter finally came to his senses and stepped in before Edmund tried to remise. Their swords clashed, his attacker fixing him with a deadly glare which turned into bewilderment. A wash of relief drooped her shoulders upon recognizing him.

Watching them lowering their sword, Susan lowered her arsenal as well, though hesitantly, sensed that something was not right. Lucy, who had her dagger unsheathed beforehand, returned it to its scabbard.

The other Pevensies exchanged looks of confusion as the scene between the two acquainted swordsmen unfolded.

Agnes straightened her posture, her face blanched as she identified who she had threatened. "The Newspaper Boy?" was she only managed in a low whisper of disbelief.

Upon hearing those words, Edmund stopped in mid-motion, arms frozen up in the air and about to bash the helmet unto her head. Highly amused, the Just King deadpanned to his other siblings, "Wait, did I just hear her call Pete as 'Newspaper Boy?'"

"Please explain what's going on with the lot of you," Susan interjected impatiently. A motherly uptightness was evident in her voice. Her mouth was set in a hard line.

"We met at back in London this morning in the train station," explained Peter.

Agnes felt her head was turning as light as a feather. The old diabolic feeling, her own destructive emotions, that darkened her face was replaced by the realization dawning on her. They were the Kings and Queens of Old which she waited for so long. The royal family that she swore her life to protect what they had left upon their absence. And there they were, graciously standing in front of her, almost trying to murder her as she tried to murder the High King. Her rapier faltered from her grasp, causing it to drop down with a clang. There was a new and unused sorrow in her voice that bent and broke the Pevensies. "Your Majesties?"

The Pevensies witnessed the most astonishing thing— Agnes knelt down before them in one swift motion. "I heartfully sorry for having offended Their Majesties with my unfavorable actions." Her head sunk lower in shame, feeling the gravity of her actions. "I will accept any punishment inflicted onto my honor."

Agnes couldn't believe it. The boy that she fancies was the High King of Narnia, someone who has a rank higher than her. Propriety would be damned if she pursued him furthermore. Agnes felt that her head was getting lighter and lighter than a feather.

"I believe there's no need for that," said Lucy.

On the other hand, Peter was looking helplessly at Edmund which the latter replied with a shrug. Though unsure of what he must do, the High King commanded Agnes, "Rise, for your sins have been atoned." And she obliged faster than the speed of light.

"With the deepest gratitude, Your Highness." She bowed her head with her eyes closed.

In her voice, there was respect, while his had control; and both were fulfilling to have and receive after a year of longing for those two powerful qualities. All were found in her, the woman that kept on reminding him of his reign as High King.

"Who are you?" interrogated Susan.

There was dignity in the way Agnes carried her head, taking pride in who she is to them. "Your Majesties and Your Highness, I am Agnes the Constant, Regent to the Kings and Queens of Narnia."

Peter felt a ton of bricks dropping on his head. He couldn't believe it, he met someone from England who knew of Narnia that's why the manner of her speech was so familiar. But he wasn't expecting the part that she's the regent while they were gone, his regent in his absence. That's why she had a respectful demeanor at the first place. 

Edmund stepped forward, asking in a tone traditionally reserved for negotiating with noblemen. "How long have we've been gone?"

"The last time I've been here, King Edmund, was 1998," returned Agnes kindly.

And by the appearance of the landforms," the Gentle Queen gestured towards the exit with her bow as she joined in, "Ten hundred years had passed."

Something broke inside Lucy as she counted the years. Her blue eyes squeezed shut as the memories of the Golden Age and her first discovery of the wardrobe flooded her mind. "Everyone we knew," she started slowly whilst she licked her lips, "Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers... They're all gone."

"What happened to the Cair?"

Agnes's tongue suddenly was lost for words. Could she afford to tell the Kings and Queens of her failure to do her duty? To tell them what had saved her? The salvation that she didn't ask for when all she wanted was to be with her people when they were brought to their knees. "There was a siege, King Edmund. I can't give any more information after that, for I was returned to England by Aslan in the midst."

"Did anyone survive?"

"That, I cannot tell, my king," and she wished that she knew so to ease the sorrows. Agnes watched each of the kings and queens. All the Pevensies' gazes were fixated on the floor, a silent anguish on their countenances that Agnes had, too, felt over and over again. The same emotion that plagued her all night whenever she approximates the amount of Narnian blood on her hands.

The hardest was on Peter, being the High King and the primordial protector, he wasn't even able to protect Narnia when the siege happened. He stared briefly at the prophecy etched on his sword that bore the evidence of his claim to the throne, before turning to his siblings, "I think it's time we found out what's going on."

* * *

Agnes awoke past midnight. Falling asleep on the ground was harder than she had expected since she had experienced required sleeping in much more dire situations than this, but as she thought of it further, she was sleeping on top of a death place she once called home. The castle of Cair Paravel was reduced to its city's necropolis.

She pushed herself away from the ground, her bare feet shivered on the frigid ancient cobblestones that were once grandiose surfaces. The ruins claimed by nettles, moss, and wild roses disappeared behind her.

She wandered to where her feet wanted to carry her. Only to stop dead in her tracks as she realized that she wasn't the only one awake.

Past the former High Table, on the edge of a cliff was Peter, his back towards her and hands clasped behind his waist. Telling by the deep rise and fall of his shoulders, he looked more relaxed than he was when Agnes first saw him in London, and she wouldn't want to disturb him. This could be the only time he can be this way, tomorrow would probably be tough on him as he is the High King with no kingdom, so she decided to leave at once.

Then, Peter's voice called her name and she froze again, a heartbeat leaped then regained its rhythm. She spun on her heel before giving him a curtsy. "Good evening, Your Highness."

"As well as to you." Peter acknowledged the gesture with a bow of his head.

When she rose, all she felt was the gratitude of his presence finally after years. Standing before her was the High King she had been admiring for so long, the leader and protector that she aspired to be. And there he was, grasping the lion hilt of his sword, watching her with the hardness of a pensive reflection.

Agnes fiddled the collar of her shirt, conscious of his gaze that made her worried that she had been a nuisance again. "Have I interrupted the High King?"

Peter shook his head. "You didn't."

Her heart lifted with satisfaction that he didn't think of her as such, but her face remained to be blank. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the High King?"

His reply was immediate. "It'll be an honor of mine for the lady to join me here," he offered, sticking out his hand towards her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, uncertain where that confidence came from. Then, a thought struck her.  _He's a Casanova during his reign, the most eligible bachelor, Agnes_. "O-of course, Your Highness." Gingerly, she placed her hand on top of his, and Peter led her to his side. When his hand slips away from hers and falls at his side, Agnes immediately felt the loss, replaced by the cold caress of wind.

Neither uttering anything to each other further, they simply watched the vast ocean under the moonlight; its ebb and flow glistening as it stretches in the to meet the sky at the horizon's vastness. The sound of the tides' rise and recede consumed the silence they had between them.

After a while, a memory from earlier in the tube station crossed the regent's mind. "You got into a brawl, Your Highness," she prompted dolefully.

Peter slowly sighed. "Yeah. He bumped me," he told while shifting on his feet. When Agnes frowned, he quickly added, "Which made me drop your handkerchief down the railway, then he forced me to apologize to him, that's when I hit him."

"Was it the only solution you had? An aggressive conciliation?" She wasn't sure if she can anymore ask him that kind of questions, given with the gap between their ranks here in Narnia. Thankfully, the High King didn't mind at all. After all, he seemed to have enjoyed her company back in the train station.

As Peter spoke, his voice faltered as he went on, every word added to the gravity of his emotions. "My temper got the best of me. Something inside me just snapped. Everything bugs me, frustrates me even the slightest trivial things." Peter turned to her, implicitly telling her that he had placed trust in her by revealing all of these to her. "I have an incredible experience here, but it slips away all so suddenly. That is something that I'll never understand."

She was experiencing the same pain as he did, the weight of what Peter had told felt as if it would crush her. At the same time, a warmth bloomed inside her chest that the High King would trust her with such thing. "At least, His Highness got out in one piece no matter how he dealt with it," Agnes said.

"Well, I had it sorted," judging the arrogant tone, even Peter himself didn't believe that he really did.

Agnes wasn't also sure if she was allowed to touch him, yet she did it for his sake. Her hand found its way on his elbow. "You're back now, Your Highness," her voice gentle that soothed the frown of the High King, "I know it's tough to accept what had happened, though we have to dwell away, we must even if it pains us. Tomorrow, Narnia needs their High King."

"And for tonight?"

She ignored the underlying meaning of his words. "I request that His Highness will absolve my sins upon his crown."

"For what exactly?"

"This," Agnes gestured the ruins, back where the younger king and queens were hopefully still asleep, with the hand that was formerly touching him, "Happened under my leadership. This is my mistake, Your Highness. If I was a stronger woman... If I wasn't so angry all the time... then, maybe... Maybe you won't—"

"Agnes, stop," Peter ordered in such fatherly manner he usually used for his crying siblings.

Agnes hadn't realized that the brimming tears when the wind passed and she felt their coolness. Inhaling softly, she calmed the bubbling turmoil inside her chest. She wanted to crumble someone's embrace, her hand itched to yearn Peter, but she restrained herself. Her arms remained at her sides where it should belong. She wanted to talk about her last battle, when she did, the words messily spilled out from her lips like puzzle pieces fit together in the wrong way.

Meanwhile, Peter was at lost on what he could offer. Deciding the nature of his words, he spoke with all the dignity he could muster to sound truthful enough, "I won't and never point a finger at you. This is not your fault."

A heartbeat greatly leaped that she needed to breathe slower in order to steady her pulse. "His Highness does? Why, I—I thank you a thousand times, Your Highness."

"I would like for you to please treat me as if I'm still that boy you met back in London. You're not my regent as I'm not the High King when I'm with you," requested Peter after a moment of silence came between them.

Agnes gaped, her eyes blinked once, then twice. "Why, of course, Your Hi—" She inhaled deeply before the title could even slip out from her tongue.

Silently reminding her, Peter raised his eyebrows.

"I apologize, uh, Newspaper Boy?" she tried awkwardly.

Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "It'll take some time for you to adjust. Don't be sorry for it. I'll be patient with you."

Peter chuckled, immensely appreciating the nickname she used for him. It was very endearing, but he would never admit that to himself. And from what it seems, Agnes would find it difficult disregarding their formalities. Apparently, she was inclined to serve him and his siblings with the deepest respect, although Peter didn't want that for her.

For a second, Agnes saw something in his eyes.  _Adoration?_  she thought, hoping that it was truly what he sees in her. She found a sudden interest in stargazing, her bottom lip briefly caught between her teeth. The darkness of the sky told her the time, and they had to go back to rest. Upon thinking about sleep, her eyelids became heavy.

"We should go back," she said softly. "It's getting late."

The smile on Peter's face faltered as he agreed.

* * *

"We can't sleep in  _here_  either." 

The honey-colored embers of the campfire illuminated the gracious features of the Gentle Queen. She sat near the fire pit, her arms embracing her legs close to her chest, with Lucy resting her head on the older queen's shoulder with a steady gaze on the flickering flames. 

After Peter and Agnes's return, all of them were awake. Luckily, they weren't aware that the regent and the High King were gone for quite some time, or else Edmund and Susan would be highly suspicious about the nature of their acquaintanceship. The last thing Peter wanted was the never-ending pestering from Edmund if he, especially, happen to know about it.

"So, what are we going to do now that we all are up to this ungodly hour?" Peter glanced around the group in anticipation for suggestions.

"We can have a midnight snack," Lucy said, recovering from her position on Susan's shoulder.

"Has anyone still have their sandwiches?" Susan asked her younger siblings which they replied with a shake of their heads.

A wide grin was plastered on his face. "Well, I left mine in my bag. And I left my bag in the train station. And I left the train station in England," Peter drawled proudly, earning a chorus of snickers. "Anymore else?"

Edmund still laid on his back and his arms folded behind his head. "Anything would do fine. I'm just glad that we're back," he declared, never taking his eyes off the sky.

"How about we tell stories?" Susan suggested.

An idea sparked in Agnes's mind. "There's a hole punched in the wall," Agnes said. "In one of the corridors of the North wing. It was concealed behind a dark armor with gold embellishments, now it's moved down the ancient treasury."

Peter and Edmund paled, secretly shared worried glances, and knew  _which wall_  she was talking about.

Susan noticed their reaction and said, "Oh, I  _knew_  about that! It was made a week after our coronation." 

Edmund muttered something considered as inappropriate for his physical age under his breath after Susan had spoken. Peter heard this and scolded him by striking the Just King on the back of his neck.

"OW!" Edmund glared at him, to which the latter ignored.

"You knew about that?" Peter seethed and eyed his sister accusingly.

"And you never told us?" Edmund cried, horrified as he watched the Gentle Queen laugh.

"What are you talking about, Sue?" Lucy chimed in, not quite following whatever was going on with her older siblings.

"The bloody hole which your idiot brothers made while roughhousing," she reminded.

"Oh." Lucy brightened, putting emphasis on the way she mouthed the "oh" whilst her eyes grew wide as saucers. " _That_  one that the staff tried to restore!"

"Lu, you too, as well as the staff?" A look of betrayal was clear on Edmund's face as he stared at the Valiant Queen in disbelief. He thought that he had escaped his sister's annoying know-it-all intuition years ago, but he was so wrong. This sister of his was a force to be reckoned with. Turning to the Marksman Queen, he demanded, "For the love of—for the last time, Pete, I'm  _not_  going to cuss—  Why didn't you tell us then?"

"The look on your faces was delightfully indulging when I was dropping hints about it. Honestly, it was my biggest achievement," Susan said who tried her best not to chortle in between her words.

"Honest to God, I'm just glad it was Sue rather than the Macready!" Peter groaned, admitting that he had been defeated all along. All the time that he and his brother spent on crafting a believable and sensible legend to avoid the staff from discovering the damn hole was wasted.

There was a howl of laughter and shouts of agreement among the Pevensie siblings, slowly they exchanged memories of their time in the Professor's mansion under the strict management of his housekeeper. 

Edmund was trying his best to reason out the time that the Mcready made him sleep in the stables, but that was for another time. 

Agnes was fine not joining in, as examining their playful exchanges was enough for her to be happy with them. Whoever the Macready was, Agnes bet that thing was worse than a Susan Pevensie scolding them.

Upon seeing them jovial and carefree, the history books she had studied were accurately true about the Kings and Queens of Old. Lucy the Valiant was the compassion. Edmund the Just was the knowledge. Susan the Gentle was the conscience. Peter the Magnificent was the strength. It was a picture of an ideal family, that kind of family that many lands wished to have in their court.

Watching them was immensely endearing, though a longing for her own siblings' presence faded her smile for a moment. Nonetheless, for the first time, in a long time, Agnes found peace in Narnia.

And as their regent, she wanted to protect the good in this family. The good that led Narnia to its Golden Age, the good when lost descended Narnia to its Dark Ages. If this good was enough to rebuild the city of Cair Paravel brick by brick, give birth to Narnians blood by blood, and restore faith little by little, so be it. After all, this was she was made of. Protecting what was worth fighting for.

"Lady Agnes, how did you discover Narnia?" Lucy asked after the merriment toned down.

Agnes smiled, a distant scenario materializing from her memories. "I was evacuated to Wales in a villa that required me to do chores as payment for my stay, of course, my parents didn't know or they would've been very cross, but at least my hands had something to do. A week after, I was doing the laundry when a White Stag suddenly came out of nowhere and snatched an article of clothing."

The cogs and gears inside her brain started whirring, Susan's blue eyes grew wide. "A White Stag?" she repeated. 

As if he could predict what his sister was thinking of, Edmund bolted upright. "Wait, when was the year you first arrived in Narnia?"

Agnes searched deep into her memories until her head throbbed, some either faded or disintegrated completely since they were all a long, long time ago. "I don't recall the exact date anymore, Your Majesty. I apologize for my lack of information, yet as far as I can remember, it was five years before the assassination of King Peridan the First."

"You followed the White Stag, didn't you, milady?"

"I can affirm that, Your Majesty. I ran after the White Stag, it jumped towards the fountain pool, and after I followed it. When I rose up, I found myself out of the Cair's well."

"I find it odd that the reason why we left is also the reason why Lady Agnes came," Susan said. "Does it mean that—"

" _Enough_ , Susan," Peter interjected firmly much to the Gentle Queen's indignation. He knew where the conversation was heading to, he didn't want to hear any of it. Because if he did, his siblings would believe that they were banished by Aslan, and eventually he'll believe, too.

Susan said icily, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't even dare make an assumption out of a simple coincidence."

"Coincidence? It wasn't an assumption, it was a deductive reasoning!"

Peter simply rolled his eyes whilst Susan threw him a glare.

Not wanting to end the conversation on bad terms, the Valiant Queen turned to the regent, "Say, why were you called 'the Constant?'"

After eyeing Peter sympathetically, Agnes smiled warily as she replied, "Whenever Narnia needed me, I was there to provide what they need in order to fuel their hope. I'm normally a regent to the heir who's too young to be a ruler or a liege. I'm Narnia's constant when all is lost—the comforter of the afflicted."

"Speaking of heirs," Edmund asked, "Who took over the throne when we were gone?"

Agnes had hummed before she mentioned every ruler she could remember, from King Peridan's succession of descendants to Queen Swanwhite II's failed bloodline, until she finally became the first Lady of Cair Paravel who doesn't hold a royal rank sometime before the collapse of the Cair.

"And, what happened during the Siege of Cair Paravel?"

Agnes sighed, strands of hair fell over her face as she hung her head. She didn't know what emotion heaved under her head. Guilt? Shame? Loss? All sounded the same to her, possibly all of them were bundled in one heavy weight on her chest.

"I think it's time for us to retire." Peter sensed that she wouldn't want to answer his brother's question, and Agnes would thank him for that.

Obliging the High King, everybody moved to their sleeping positions before bidding each other a good night or to have a sweet dream, then the slow crackling of the fire feeding on the wood drowned the silence in between and after.

Agnes closed her eyes, letting the burden tire herself to sleep. 

 

 


	3. O Sorrow, Wilt Thou Rule My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's going mad, wasn't she?

Hours later, she dreamt.

Actually, it shouldn't be considered a dream. It was full of suffering and restlessness. There was anger, but not for another, but for the one who was feeling it. A perfect concoction of a sinner's perpetual insomnia late at night.

She was having a nightmare. It screamed, and then whispered; the nightmare wanted her to wake up.

Open her eyes!

Dispel the restlessness!

" _Maggie?_ " a familiar voice, though softened with vulnerability, pierced through her head.

Like she had gotten out of a black hole inside her head, Agnes awakened in cold sweat with a violently thumping heart. Terror had her reaching instinctively for her rapier, only stopping when she saw a glimpse of the Pevensies' sleeping forms surrounding her. Then, realization dawned on her face as she remembered the events last night. Slowly, her shoulders drooped in relief. She was not in the middle of chaos anymore, unlike the years of sleepless nights here in this very castle, afraid that the enemy would attack at whatever time. Peace like this disoriented her.

Glancing once more to the Kings and Queens of Old, she wondered what they felt in this kind of peace, though she and they had contrasting perspectives of peace. They remembered peace differently. Agnes found peace whenever she was behind the barracks built around the high walls of the castle surrounded by the protection of soldiers where enemies lines are miles away. Maybe, the Pevensies found peace whenever bountiful feasts would be hosted inside the Great Hall where all of them can be jubilant until the sun rises.

Sighing, she laid flat on her back and faced the gray skies with bleary eyes that had stinging dark circles underneath that felt heavier than usual. Dusk had yet to shine down the aging and barren Cair Paravel, so she decided to go back to sleep. When she tried to close her eyes, a sniffling sound nearby stirred her, but chose to ignore it, thinking that it might be from the wilderness. So, she squeezed eyes shut hard, hard, harder-- eventually, she gave up forcing when the sound became intolerable. Agnes rolled on her left-side and met the sight of the Valiant Queen's glassy eyes. The lackluster in her blue eyes clearly indicated that she had been crying for some time. Her eyes were swollen red and her parts of her face were crusty.

"Your Majesty," Agnes whispered hoarsely. She rose slowly, careful not to wake up Susan on her right. She was going to ask if she was alright, but Agnes closed her  
mouth before she could have uttered a stupid question, instead, she whispered, "What happened?"

"I have been thinking." Lucy kneaded her tear-stained cheeks using her wrists. "Lady Agnes, was there a point in your life where you blamed me for what happened to Narnia?" Once a warm tear broke free, the rest rolled down on her cheeks like an  
uneven hot rivulet.

The sadness of the queen gripped Agnes's heart like a crevice. In all honesty, she never had blamed them for abandoning Narnia, not even once. Searching through the depths of her memories and feelings, there was neither hatred nor anything against them. Only sadness, doubt, and pity. Perhaps it was because the reason for the existence of her regency was their absence. That was probably it, yes, it sounded right.

Or was she disappointed at them? She didn't know which idea was closer, though Agnes never blamed someone.

Incredulity filled the youngest Pevensie's eyes upon the regent's denial. Lucy breathed slowly, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "I was the reason why we left Narnia. If I had listened to Peter about me wandering off, you wouldn't be hurt like this and nor would Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers. If we thought about how Sue had a bad feeling of capturing the White Stag..." Her sentence trailed off to muffle the sounds of her whimpering.

At one point, her conversation with Peter on the cliff materialized in her thoughts. Particularly the one wherein she also had a fair share of regret.

"Queen Lucy, Have I done something for those thoughts to plague you?" Were Agnes's emotions so obvious? She thought that she had already mastered concealing her feelings. All the pain that she tried to hide was clear to youngest Pevensie, then what more to the others?

The thought worried, no, horrified Agnes.

Lucy's gaze flickered towards the ground between them. "You were mumbling about being sorry for not being a better leader," her voice was almost inaudible. Conscience twisted her tongue, preventing her from speaking what other things she had heard.

On the other hand, Agnes could not recall anymore the dreams she had because the minute she was awake, all of them disappeared inside her head. She was worried what could have been saying no matter what the nature of her nightmares; Agnes prayed that it didn't give away anything she tried to keep under her breath. Though, she was thankful that her prior thoughts didn't match up.

"Maybe, if we didn't leave, Narnia wouldn't be like this. There would still be a Cair Paravel we could always go home to," Lucy went on as she licked her trembling lips.

Then, Susan began to shift and let out a tired groan. The Gentle Queen murmured something unintelligible which sounded of letting her rest for another five minutes, Agnes observed her until she became silent and stilled.

Reassured that Susan drifted back to sleep, Agnes slowly got up on her toes and silently ushered Lucy, who had damp cheeks and watery eyes, to follow her. She took a long look at Susan before heading towards the courtyard, praying that they could sneak off without causing any more disturbances.

"Where are we going?" Lucy croaked, walking idly beside the regent. Upon seeing Agnes's dangling hand, she thought if she was allowed to hold it. But, she needed something to grasp on in a similar manner she would do to either Susan or Peter (since Edmund was not the one for physical affections). Lucy craved for an older sibling's reassurance, and Agnes was a likely candidate. But the thought vanished, and Lucy fidgeted with her own small hands instead.

Agnes hovered a finger over her lips. Her eyes twinkled that hid their bleariness. "You'll see."

Located where the North Gate once stood was the remnants of the apple orchard. Only a few trees were blessed to endure the brutality of the Dark Ages. Their branches were still bountiful with scrumptious red delights that fed generations of families stricken with poverty after the Golden Age.

"If I may?"

"Yes, please," Lucy permitted after sniffling

Finding a low sturdy branch, Agnes hoisted the Valiant Queen up on there before  
placing herself on the branch's far end.

"Let's talk here, Their Majesties are out of earshot." The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "The last thing that they would want is waking up and seeing you moping."

Lucy beamed at her despite her glossy eyes and moist cheeks. "Don't worry about waking them all up. Mum thought that Ed was the hardest, and Susan was the least of a problem." A dim streak of light from the East caught her attention. Glancing towards the horizon, she immediately felt the sorrows leaving her body in the form of a flood of tears. The first ray of sunlight's reflection scattered among the rippling dark waters of the sea she was crowned to by Aslan. Lucy had always been an early-bird to watch the sunrise with Mr. Tumnus on the balcony facing the beach, and it made her very sentimental. After a while, she managed a thank you to the regent.

Her mouth only curved into a wary smile. "I just did what has to be done," Agnes cooed, in a manner that Lucy was familiar with in which Peter would do to comfort her. "Because believe me when I say I do not and will not blame you for all the downfalls. that came into my life. You're a good person, Queen Lucy."

Lucy stiffened beside her, drew her lip between her teeth before replying with a nod. "You really mean it, Lady Agnes?"

"Your Majesty, if a human being such as the likes of you has lived her life to see this ethereal scenery and appreciates it, though a small trivial thing, then there's something good in that person. And that person is worthy to be forgiven a thousand times no matter what."

A tightening of her throat, followed by a sharp intake of breath, Lucy wasn't unable to control the heartbreak. She sprung forward and wrapped her arms around Agnes's neck, pulling the latter's head close to her trembling chest. Her grief poured out like an exploding river dam, along with a sporadic series of sentences, "I don't know how sad the Beavers, Mr. Tumnus, Oreius, Lord Peridan, Philip, and the others were when we're gone, and it makes me cry not knowing!" she moaned.

A drop of tear welled up from the corners of Agnes's eyes as the Valiant Queen buried her forehead on her shoulder, her sobs muffled when she did. From the bottom of her heart, Agnes wished that someone would tell her the same thing. It was very hypocritical for her to say so because even herself had regrets like Lucy. And much, much more devastating regrets. But a part of her instinct, despite the thoughts, had her hands splayed on Lucy's back to soothe away any burden she had been carrying for a year.

When the sun fully arose from the horizon and brightened the ancient pillars, Lucy's tears had miraculously stopped flowing.

* * *

If Susan was to be reincarnated into weather, it would be a raging storm comically trailing after Peter's above. Snapping back to reality, and of course, she was literally trailing after the High King, furious as a mother would be after knowing a relative had taken her child to a candy store without permission. 

"Do you really ought to think we could trust her?" she asked incredibly all calm and collected, except for her lips pressing into a tight thin line.

Peter, the epitome of sleep deprivation, couldn't care less, but Susan was getting impatient every moment he takes and he knew best than to let her be this way. He balanced his overly-polished sword down on the rock. "She's nice."

"So was the White Witch, once upon a time," Susan quipped.

He blinked in disbelief. "Must you question _every_ girl I happen to like?" The last three words made the queen raise her brows.

"Must I? Why, yes! Especially since Mary-Lou had happened to you."

His face, now turning red and redder, sunk upon remembering her. Hearing that particular name made him very uncomfortable, far more than he can put into words, and what more if he recalled the last time he—Oh, goodness. Nevermind.

Noticing his reaction and the delay of his response, Susan placed her palms on her waist. "Now, do you understand, Peter, why I'm doing this for you?"

"Yes, mum," he grumbled, stubborn as a mule.

"I thought I heard someone mentioning Mary-Lou," Edmund announced as he joined his older siblings. He turned to Peter and swung an arm on the latter's shoulders. "Tell me, Pete, do you remember when she took you to Hyde Park and— Yes, you're giving me a glare." As Edmund's face became more serious, his infamous grin disappearing, he said to his sister, "I've talked to our regent."

Peter listened to the exchange without much gusto whilst he pretended to inspect an invisible dirt on his perfectly pristine scabbard.

"And what's your judgment?" Susan's voice was patient, and somewhat, to the confusion of Peter, hopeful.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked, going over the regent's side. She attached the belt containing her cordial and dagger around the swell of her hips. Then, something was not right with it. The belt was too large, lengthened to satisfy the built of her adult-self. With a few tugs of the strap, she finally adjusted it to fit around her.

From the far-end, Agnes was struggling with adjusting her kirtle. Apparently, all her clothes were to fit her adult-self, muscular and broader. It was too baggy to fit her that made her looked a scrawny child during the Black Plague.

"It's just that it's still difficult for me to digest that I've always been a middle-aged woman. Now that I'm young, they aren't suitable for me anymore." Agnes removed her kirtle in a huff, trying all her best to restrain herself from ripping the sleeves of her old Narnian clothing. She sighed, leaning against the wall of the Treasure Room.

The change of her body was a mockery, a reminder of a distant past. This was worn by someone who was great and revered, now it's being used by nobody. What was the difference between Agnes the Constant and Agnes Beckett of London?

' _More than measurements_ ,' a voice inside her head said.

Could she that Agnes again? That would bring salvation and justice to her people?

It was such a trivial thing to mind, yet it was a contempt for her grace and glory. She was the redemption of the Narnians in the midst of the Dark Ages and protected them from Caspian the Conqueror with all she could.

Now, who's Agnes? The one from London or the other?

"You can borrow Susan's if you want, after all, it's too large for her and she wouldn't mind at all," Lucy offered. An olive-colored tunic was produced from the Gentle queen's chest. At first, she considered providing one of her own dresses but changed her mind at the minute of considering that the skirt would be too heavy for Agnes to practice swordsmanship.

"Thanks, Your Majesty," Agnes said with a deep bow of her head. Eyeing the tunic, it would suffice her built since it was slightly larger than her. Turning back away for propriety reasons, she took a tentative wear by sliding her arms through the sleeves.

There was a long dent etched on Agnes's back, and Lucy never missed how it reminded her of the great extremities she tended during wars. It was those kinds of wounds that the High King told her to only cure. It was deep enough to pass as an abnormality upon the soft skin, starting at the very middle where the collarbone meets the right shoulder down the small of her back.

Conceivably, Agnes could have gotten it from one of the wars she partook. Very much like the appearance of Edmund's puncture wound when they returned to Narnia, no scar lines were visible to prove its existence. Although, the dent told otherwise. It was more obvious when Agnes moved her arms to pull the tunic down over her torso, and the invisible scar disappeared from the Valiant queen's sight.

Lucy, not because she did not have the heart to ask, chose to be silent and kept her hands to herself despite the childish curiosity coming back like it resurrected from a slumber of a memory.

* * *

"We'll go on foot," said Peter before stepping away to avoid the waters from wetting his boots.

Dressed in Narnian clothing and equipped with respective weapons, all of them stood along the shore. Like what had been observed last night, the peninsula of Cair Paravel turned into a mere island, the natural environment comprising the capital of Narnia were different from what they have always known. Their sizes and shapes were almost unrecognizable, though Edmund bargained to compare and contrast the present landforms to the ones that were recorded on the map.

The Just king deftly folded the aging map of Narnia, surveying the sea once more. "And where do you suggest we head off to?"

"I say towards Northwest, to Lantern Waste, with the Lamp-post."

"If there's such a lamp-post here in Narnia," Agnes contended who was crouching down to touch the water flow.

Peter turned abruptly. "I'm sorry?" He frowned at her for he was not sure why there was a hint of rudeness in her voice.

She slowly straightened up and wiped her damp palm on the sides of her trousers. Her dark eyes narrowed at him bitterly. "There's no Lamp-post here in Narnia."

"So, you think that I'm making things up?"

"No, I'm simply pointing out your mistake, Your Highness." If she had a working conscience that extreme moods wouldn't dampen, Agnes hadn't said that. But the wildfire of her emotions took control, and now she's as unfairly judgmental as a conservative grandmother from the suburbs. Of course, she'd apologize for her immaturity later, although it's unwise to rail against someone who's polite all throughout.

Before the debate could get heated more, judging by Peter and Agnes's glares, Edmund chimed in coolly, his palm resting on his hip, "I think that we should stop this argument by consulting me, which happens to be the Duke of Lantern Waste." He rolled his eyes at how petty they had been and walked off towards Lucy.

"What's the matter with you?" Peter asked the calmest way he could manage. Her callous and unsolicited outburst that replaced the noble demeanor he experienced yesterday vexed him. Had he said something about Lantern Waste that offended her? If there was, it was an honest mistake and he never ever meant to hurt her. As far as he knew, he did not do anything to offend her or whatsoever that such behavior was unbecoming of him, so Peter composed himself.

Agnes closed her eyes upon hearing the tinge of hurt in his voice. She was counting one to ten in order to push back the raging fire from igniting again at the tip of her tongue. When she was ready, she faced the High King who had a look of genuine concern. Almost immediately, she scolded herself for her behavior.

' _Quite a temper, eh?_ ' the familiar voice in her head laughed.

Peter saw the moment of softness in her eyes before it was overshadowed by her firm gaze. Had he done something wrong to her when all he did was to reciprocate her respect? All his willpower had frozen him to not grab her hand when she simply had brushed her shoulder against him.

Then, whooshing sound of an arrow letting loose had their heads turning towards Susan, loading another just as everyone gathered beside her.

By inclination to danger, the kings unsheathed their swords at the moment two soldiers in unfamiliar armor were about to throw a bound dwarf into the river.

Drawing the arrow on the bowstring, Susan demanded with her voice having a powerful timbre familiar in her reign, "Drop him!"

When the men took Susan way too literal and dropped the bundle in the river, Agnes joined the two kings when they dove into the cool waters.

Swimming across the river, Agnes quickly jerked out the pierced arrow on the boat, trodden around the boat, and reached the bank. She sprinted fast as she could in pursuit of the escaping Telmarine despite the heaviness of her clothing heaved for it was soaking wet.

As she was gained ground, Agnes socked the soldier across his face which had him falling to his knees. She panted whilst looking down at the bloodied nose of the Telmarine in contempt.

"Do declare that the Kings and Queens of Old wish their regards to Telmar," then she pierced the arrow deep through his thigh.

The Telmarine winced when the golden arrowhead burrowed deep, his hands trembling and decided whether to hover the newly produced wound or hit the regent instead. With a change of his mind, he stumbled his way to Telmar.

Satisfied, Agnes reunited with the Pevensies on the opposite side of the river.

The dwarf, free from his constraints, eyed them in bewilderment. "You're it? You're the Kings and Queen of Old!"

Peter stepped forward, hand outstretched. "High King Peter the Magnificent," he announced with pride.

"You should've left the last bit," said Susan.

"Probably." The dwarf chuckled.

Agnes smiled warily, eyeing the defeat as Peter's hand dropped back to his side. Their eyes meet briefly before he unsheathed his sword. There was a moment where she suddenly felt conscious, unsure whether it was the wet clothing sticking to her figure or how she had behaved earlier. Nevertheless, she was blushing at the intensity of his stare.

"You might be surprised," said Peter as he raised Rhindon.

The dwarf recoiled, unsure if whether it was a threat or a challenge. "You don't want to do that, boy."

"Not me, him." Peter gestured towards his brother.

Then it escalated into a duel between the dwarf and the Just King. Both were impressive in their own ways of fighting, but what was immensely astonishing was Edmund's strategy of letting the dwarf take the upper-hand before making an attack that would knock off the dwarf in surprise.

Agnes lifted her chin in pride at the sight of Edmund all in his glory and might. The kind of pride one would give to someone idolized. It was true she idolized every Pevensie way back before she could even meet them. Although, her moment of admiring was cut short when the dwarf spoke in astonishment.

  
"Beards and bedsteads!" he gasped. "Maybe that horn worked after all."

It took several beats later for Agnes to process. "That horn," faded in and echoed louder and louder in her senses. The long-forgotten prophecy, the one where it couldn't any longer be recited in verbatim, was finally clear to her. Her sacrifice back in the Siege was indeed worthwhile.

"What horn?" Susan asked.

Agnes's heart thumped wildly, and in a heartbeat, she exclaimed in one breath, "The prophecy worked!" Then, everyone turned to her with varying levels of confusion, but the dwarf was the only one who understood.

He did a double take at the damascened parrying dagger, named in honor of her only brother, sheathed at her side. "The Constant?"

"Yes, it is I. The prophecy, the Gentle's horn blown by the tenth of his name, is it true?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

Peter intervened with a shake of his head, "Wait, we're still included in this discussion."

The words were ingrained in her memory, always ready to be shared. "When you were gone, Narnia was left with two prophecies. One is that once a Son of Adam, tenth of his name, has the possession of Queen Susan's horn, Narnia would bring back what once was theirs," Agnes explained.

"And the other?"

"Not quite much of importance."

"Why?" Lucy's little voice chimed in.

The regent smiled sadly at the Valiant Queen. "It's nothing really."

"I bet ya it does," the dwarf drawled in sarcasm.

Agnes hesitated which Edmund took notice of, and he realized, "You're the second prophecy, aren't you, Agnes?"

She inhaled softly, containing the indignance down where it couldn't meet her voice. There was no more reason left to hide it anymore. Afterall, she knew it would eventually be brought into the light, but she didn't expect it to be this early. " **When the Southern morning sun reaches its ninth hour, the Daughter of Eve will arrive through His power. At Cair and Stone, she rules with neither throne nor crown, 'Til Old's thrones are summoned by the Gentle Horn's sound**."

The Pevensies exchanged a look among themselves, one that could only be stood by themselves.

Edmund merely shrugged. "Susan, it's at least better than Eustace's rubbish couplets."

"Of course."

Another smile curled the lips of the regent, this time much more in a lighter mood. "So," she turned to the dwarf, "To who do I owe the pleasure?"

"Trumpkin, Your Grace."

"Nice to be of your acquaintance, Trumpkin." Then, the smile ultimately faded when she had met Peter's gaze once again. She couldn't quite name the emotion he had in his eyes, but it fought its way through the blockades outside her heart. 

' _Now, what did I say about letting your emotions getting the best of you, hm_ _?_ ' the voice in her head rang out again.

 _'I'll approach that matter later with dignity_ ,' she thought back.

She's going mad, wasn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Agnes really going mad? Let me know your guesses in the comments!


End file.
